


three roses and a smile

by strawberrycitrus



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Professors, Fights, Light Angst, M/M, Research, atsumu's a microbiologist, but they're teachers??, kind of, kind of rushed :/, sakusa's a surgeon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-11
Updated: 2020-04-11
Packaged: 2021-03-02 04:47:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 19,768
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23589403
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/strawberrycitrus/pseuds/strawberrycitrus
Summary: “I just got this job, I’m not givin’ it up for some moral boost ‘cause I actually need to pay my rent, ya insensitive -” Atsumu waves his hands around, trying and failing to come up with the right word to convey the amount of injustice that this gaunt motherfucker has brought into his relatively simple life thus far.“If you can’t pay your rent, go get a job at the McDonald’s over by 8th Street,” Sakusa growls, “it’ll pay more than your researcher position.”If you even attempt assault on a coworker, forget teaching about cells - you’ll fucking be in one, Atsumu.
Relationships: Miya Atsumu & Miya Osamu, Miya Atsumu/Sakusa Kiyoomi
Comments: 98
Kudos: 1458





	three roses and a smile

**Author's Note:**

> this was made for day 5: misunderstanding, hope u guys enjoy!

“I hate you,” he bites out into the receiver of his battered phone, to Osamu’s hysterical laughter, “as soon as I get to my place, I’m gonna murder you and they won’t be able ta’ find yer body ‘cause it’ll be so far down in the sewers that even that clown-freak from that movie won’t be able ta’ find it, and they’ll have to treat it as a missing persons case until I die and they find out that it was a homicide -”

“Calm down, ‘Tsumu, yer still alive, arentcha?”   
  
“Barely!” he hisses, “We almost crashed  _ 4 times _ and the pilot didn’t even tell us about the partial engine failure until we were off the plane, saving a couple bucks isn’t worth my life ya fuckin’  _ incel,  _ ya gray-haired motherfucking  _ bitch  _ -”

A woman covering her two year old’s ears very politely asks him to hold off on the language, just loud enough for Osamu to hear and start screaming with laughter  _ again _ .

It takes five minutes for him to stop laughing, and then another fifteen minutes to wrangle directions out of Osamu’s unapologetic bitchass face, because his only reason to be alive is to make Atsumu’s life harder in every single way. 

(Craning his neck to read the text on the overhead signs, their picture-perfect font directs him to the left to find his luggage - which is probably a mistake because he’s  _ been over there, and there’s no fucking sign of a baggage claim on that side _ . “D’ya think someone could get lost before they even get outside the airport?”

Osamu probably bursts a lung with how hard he starts laughing, and Atsumu hangs up on him.)

* * *

His office, when he finally gets to it after an hour of getting lost, looks like it’s been pulled right out of Pinterest - there’s a window overlooking the bustling pathways filled with college students, and each and every one of them looks like death-warmed over, y’know, college - there’s a potted plant by the door that’s going to die of neglect in three weeks, the warm brown of the bookshelves are a stark contrast to the almost blindingly white walls of the room, and, most importantly, the walk from here to his apartment is only 10 minutes. 

Which, he might add, is absolutely insane given the mad dash for housing every university experiences before the term starts - he’s used up all his good luck for the year.

Every corner of the new office reeks of fresh paint, and Atsumu wrinkles his nose at the sharp odor; he’s never liked chemical smells, no matter how much his brother taunts him over “being a bioengineer that hates his reagents”. Hanging a couple of citrus air-fresheners, he gets to work.

He strings up fairy lights around the room, because the fluorescent ones the office comes with hurt his eyes when working under them for too long, and also for the aesthetic. Atsumu’s students are gonna know he’s the chillest bitch in this entire department.

Then he sets to work shoving his textbooks into the empty shelves, because he may be the chillest bitch but education is still important, no matter how shit it is to wake up at 5 A.M. to give a lecture that none of his students will be awake for. The colorful backings give the office a splash of personality, even if they actually contain the stuff of his nightmares the past couple of years. 

Atsumu has to admit that this place is a huge step up from his previous workplace, where he swears he saw a rat in a cabinet once, but it jumped into the ventilation pipes before he could get proof of its existence, so he couldn’t sue the shit out of the place and leave. 

_ “‘Samu, I’m not fuckin’ joking. There was a rat, this big,”  _ he had shifted his phone to be nestled in a precarious perch between his textbook and water bottle as he stretched his arms out for emphasis, “ _ and it was eating my experiment. No fuckin’ joke. It was eating my fucking agar like a ten year old loose in a Golden Corral - what am I gonna do, oh my god, my supervisor isn’t gonna believe me when I tell her there’s VERMIN in the fuckin’ walls, oh my god -” _

Osamu took a momentary pause from being a piece of garbage to actually reply.  _ “Sounds like a you kinda problem, ‘Tsumu.” _

_ “Will ya put my favorite brand of prawn chips on my altar?”  _ Atsumu had cried, falling back onto his crappy dorm bed with a dramatic sob,  _ “Someone has to do it. My body will be fished outta the wreckage of the lab, and ya won’t even be able to recognize me ‘cause of the burn marks on my entire body. You wouldn’t fuckin’ know, with yer stupid frogs and snakes - she’s crazy, ‘Samu, she took the entire electrophoresis apparatus and threw it into the ceiling ‘cause she fucked up her own experiment -” _

_ “That’s terrible.” _ Osamu had deadpanned, staring down at his notebook as he actually did his homework, almost as if he  _ wasn’t _ listening to his rant.

_ “It’s not that I’m fuckin’ scared that we don’t have the money to DO things like that, which we DON’T, but more of the fact that my samples were IN THERE when she FUCKIN’ SMASHED IT, and then she yelled at me TWO MINUTES LATER when I fuckin’ told her I’d have to restart it, as if it’s MY FUCKIN’ FAULT she punted it onto the overhead lights -”  _

_ “You poor thing.” _

_ “- everyone’s scared of her, did I tell ya about the time where she took the ink outta the printer while I was actually printing the spectrometer results?” _

_ “Yes, ‘Tsumu,”  _ Osamu had rolled his eyes to the ceiling with a muffled groan,  _ “You’ve told me this story a thousand times -” _

Atsumu had barrelled on,  _ “- then not FIVE MINUTES later, she tells ME off for half-assing my work, even though I’ve been pullin’ all-fuckin’-nighters to get my thesis done AND run all these samples for her ungrateful ass -” _

Osamu had flipped to the next page in his textbook with the type of heavy sigh expected from a twin who has had to deal with the other twin’s constant bitching for 23 years.  _ “Why don’t ya just quit?” _

_ “- I’m sorry that I can’t make the centrifugation process faster, what does she want me to do? Spin it myself? Sure, lemme just - put the sample in my mouth and play ring-around-the-fuckin’-rosie, why not -” _

_ “‘Tsumu. Why don’t ya just quit?” _

There had been a moment of silence.

_ “Are ya fuckin’ kidding me?!”  _ Osamu slammed his textbook shut with a bang and threw his pencil across the room. “ _ You’ve been screamin’ yer problems to me for an entire year when ya don’t even have an excuse for stayin’?!” _

_ “Just until I finish my master’s,”  _ Atsumu rubbed his eyes with the backs of his hands,  _ “once I finish my master’s I’ll get a new job, and I’ll run my own lab ...” _

And worked he did, for three years - he published his thesis (Atsumu had huddled under his leaky kitchen sink and reread the 73 page monstrosity forty-six times before Osamu had put him out of his misery and clicked submit for him), and MSBY University had seen his work with electroporation of Gram-negative bacterial walls and they had offered him a teaching position.

( _ “Are you fucking serious? I got away from you for six years, and yer comin’ back?” _

_ “‘Samu, didn’t ya tell me to ditch the toxic bitches at the lab?” _

_ “If I knew you’d be comin’ here I wouldn’t’ve.” _

_ “.. did you just say ‘wouldn’t’ve’?” _ )

Pulling his laptop out of his bag, he crouches down and plugs the cable in, only to blink as the display fails to light up. Atsumu twists the connector around in its socket -  _ did it break on the flight over? _

The cables look fine, there’s no visible tears or exposed wiring, so that means it might be a problem with the internal circuits - which would be an absolute  _ nightmare _ to try and fix (for all his pipetting skill, his hands still shake like San Francisco in 1906 when he has to work with delicate machinery) - so maybe if he turns it on and off again -?

“You’re the new head of cellular bio research, right?”

There’s a man standing in his doorway, dressed head to toe in PPE - his scrubs are pristine even with a lab coat thrown haphazardly over his shoulder, not a single wrinkle out of place, pale like he’s never stepped outside in his life, goggles nestled in his dark curls - and Atsumu’s first thought is _this guy is the most attractive person I’ve ever seen_ _in my life._

“Well? I don’t have all day,” and Atsumu realizes he’s been silent a touch too long; he scrambles up into a standing position, and sticks out his hand with his most charming smile.

“Uh, yeah! I’m Atsumu Miya, my brother recommended me for this position, actually, ya might know him, he's the prof of nutrition in the health department, his name's Osamu, looks just like me except with ugly gray hair?"

"I know him."

Atsumu brushes off the casual dismissal -  _ this guy must be real fun at parties _ \- and continues with his introduction. " Well, then ya probably already know me, bet 'Samu talks about me all the time!'

"Not really, no."

That kinda stings.

"...  _ o- _ kay," he stretches out the syllable with a raised eyebrow, "didja need something, Mr ..?”

His arm is getting tired from how long he’s been holding it out for.

“ _ Dr. _ Sakusa Kiyoomi,” and the doctor - Sakusa - takes several steps forward, closing the door behind him and pushes Atsumu’s outstretched hand down with a rude flick of one gloved wrist. “You’ll find it in your best interests to stay out of my way."

“What?” Atsumu gawks in surprise, because there’s no way he’s being treated this rudely by someone he's just met, ”Um, do ya have the wrong person or somethin’ ..?"

Sakusa rolls his eyes and makes small, calculated steps towards him, his perfectly shined shoes squeaking on the linoleum.

"I’m a clinical professor, I teach the med students how to do everything in this hospital, and you -” he gestures to Atsumu’s ratty hoodie and thin sweatpants, somehow making feel even more insecure than he already does, “- are the leech that’s taking away funding for my program.”

Atsumu blinks in bewilderment -  _ what the fuck is this guy's deal? _ and  _ leech? what is this, the nineteenth century?  _ \- and puts his hands on his hips and puffs his chest out, appealing to the lizard brain part of him that insists that looking bigger guarantees the victory in this fight.

“What’s yer fuckin’ problem?”

“My students are going to be the lifeblood of this industry,” Sakusa announces coldy, pointing an accusing finger at his chest, “they are going to save lives, they are going to actually contribute to society, and we were already running on scraps before you got here -”

“Are you shitting me?” he fires back, because he is not gonna lie down and take this bull from a person he’s just fucking met, “I majored in microbiology, I wrote my thesis on the merits of usin’ holes in a bacterial cell in a clinical setting, and yer here saying that  _ our research ain’t gonna save lives? _ ”

Atsumu has to tilt his head back to look the other in the eyes - _ he's 6'2, there's no reason to feel like a dwarf, you're above the national average  _ \- and he feels out of his depth when he sees pure, unadulterated  _ rage _ on those onyx eyes. 

Sakusa folds his arms in front of his chest, and glowers at him. “Doctors are out there on the front lines,” he spits. “We perform surgeries and talk with the patients we work with, we foster connections - we all know researchers are just wannabe doctors without the skills to actually make it far in the field," and wow, okay, Atsumu is going to slaughter this dude.

“We're not yer fuckin' med school drop-outs!" Atsumu slams his hands against his desk with a loud crash, trembling with anger when Sakusa doesn't react with anything more than a disinterested 'tch.' "We're savin' just as many lives as you are, you wouldn't even be where ya are without our medicines and gene therapies - don't even start with yer privileged doctor crap -"

No matter how true his words are, Atsumu regrets the venom as soon as it leaves his lips - of course doctors save lives, of course doctors do good for their community, of course doctors are an integral part of a society that would crumble without them - yet the scowl Sakusa sports makes it hard to regret his words.

“And ain’t this a  _ medical department? _ There’s no way yer “runnin’ on scraps”, this is where all the goddamn money goes!” 

He should know, he's spent 7 years of his life pushing for funding into his own programs, only to be turned away and left to hear how the prissy medical program received ten  _ million  _ in donations the last quarter. The med students hadn't even needed it, sitting on almost  _ twenty  _ million from fellowship grants the previous year, while Atsumu sat in his lab with the window handles that had a very real chance of giving you tetanus and that had Erlenmeyer flasks that were probably centuries old, judging by the two-inch layer of dust caked on the bottom.

“You’d be surprised at how demanding our sports teams are,” Sakusa looks around his room, lip curling in distaste at his taste in decor. “Do you even speak Japanese? I can barely understand you with that accent.”

“Didn’t yer parents ever teach ya manners?” he snaps back, “My accent’s the least of yer fuckin’ worries if ya act like a dick to everyone ya meet. I can’t control if I’m takin’ yer funds or not, I just fuckin’ got here!”

Sakusa turns to look at him fully, and stares him down with a snarl marring his otherwise perfect face, and Atsumu has known this man for five minutes but he wants to deck him in his stupidly chiseled jaw.

“You know what you can control?” the doctor doesn’t give him time to respond, “Your employment status here. If you quit, they’ll give the money back to where it should be.”

“I  _ just _ got this job, I’m not givin’ it up for some moral boost ‘cause I actually need to pay my rent, ya insensitive -” Atsumu waves his hands around, trying and failing to come up with the right word to convey the amount of injustice that this gaunt motherfucker has brought into his relatively simple life thus far.

“If you can’t pay your rent, go get a job at the McDonald’s over by 8th Street,” Sakusa growls, “it’ll pay more than your researcher position.”

_ If you even attempt assault on a coworker, forget teaching about cells - you’ll fucking be in one, Atsumu.  _

“I’m not  _ just _ a fuckin’ researcher, asshole, my thesis got national recognition!” he takes a menacing step forward, eyes searching for any sign of shock or surprise on Sakusa’s infuriatingly blank face.

Sakusa gracefully straightens up, pulling a sleek phone out of his pocket (no case, typical) and swiping on the screen, obviously pretending that some other work is more important than this debate. “Is that supposed to impress me?”

_ Killing your coworker is frowned on in many societies, including this one. You need the money. You can’t go to jail, Osamu won’t bail you out a second time - _

Sakusa takes his silence as defeat (which it is  _ not _ , he’s exercising his God-given gift of staying out of prison), spins around on his heel and pauses at the exit, turning to fix one final glare at him. “Stay out of my way, Miya.”

He strides out the door with his lab coat billowing in his wake like a fucking Bond villain, slamming the door shut with much more force than what seems necessary and leaving the smell of antiseptic and hand sanitizer in his wake.

Atsumu stares at his retreating back through the window, in equal parts fury and awe - the guy couldn’t have been older than he was, but he was already a doctor, what the fuck - but Sakusa’s bedside manner was probably comparable to that guy on the doctor show, something like Condo? It stuck out to him because of the weird show name - it was named after a housing unit, if he remembers correctly.

His heart is pounding out of his chest, an unfortunate side effect of dealing with rude people who have the audacity to insult him,  _ unprovoked  _ (he knows people insult him, but it’s usually after he’s pushed them to their limits), and rude people who are also unfairly attractive have a terrible impact on his health. 

* * *

“Sakusa’s not actually that bad,” Osamu politely informs him over lunch in the dingy diner on the outskirts of the campus, “he’s prickly, sure, but if yer nice to him, he’s slightly less of a jerk to ya.”

“You don’t _understand,_ ‘Samu, I didn’t do _anything_ !” Atsumu speaks around a mouthful of pizza, prompting Osamu to cringe and throw his arsenal of balled up napkins at him. “I was unpackin’ my stuff, and he walked in and told me to quit my job - quit _laughin’_ \- like, and I tried bein’ friendly, but he insulted my accent and my degree, said researchers aren’t shit and that I should get a job at McDonald’s, told me my department’s stealing his money and called me a money-suckin’ leech -”

Osamu chokes on his drink, spraying orange soda back into his cup, and starts hacking his lungs into his lap. Atsumu doesn’t look up from his fries and pounds his fist against the other’s back with a well-worn sigh.

With watering eyes, Osamu dumps his backwashed soda into the garbage and whips out his phone with a swift, panicked movement. “Did he say that yer department was takin’ _his_ department’s money?”

“Yes?” he stares in confusion as Osamu starts texting someone at a lightning speed, fingers blurring with the speed at which he types out his message. “Is this normal? Am I gonna have to get used to people barging into my office and harassing me about the state of the uni’s economic affairs?”

There’s a moment of silence as Osamu just stares at his phone, worry lines on his forehead becoming more prominent as he reads the (obviously concerning) reply.

“Hello? ‘Samu?”

“Didja tell him that you were a professor?”

“No, it didn’t come up as he was roastin’ my entire ass!”

Osamu shakes his head and, after studying his phone for a second, shoves it into his pocket and tips a salt-shaker over onto the table and traces a line into the grains.

“Lemme explain. So, all incoming students in the medical sciences have this choice - they can either go the full route, bein’ a doctor and spendin’ their life savings on med school,” he draws a crude stethoscope at the end of the line, “they can switch to a humanities major,” Osamu sketches a tombstone on the other end of the line as they both shudder at the very mention of the arts, “or they can ‘bail out’ - not completely quitting, but not really going the full way, y’know?”

He puts the word in air-quotes, “There’s this .. stigma around takin’ the last route, which is the research path.” Osamu draws a line branching off from the main one. “People think it’s just a coward’s way out, ‘cause they’re not committin’ to being a doc, but they’re not leaving the pathway as a whole.”

Atsumu stares at him blankly.

Osamu sighs and tugs at his hair with a frown. “There was a petition a couple years ago to get the research departments more funds, ‘cause they were workin’ with like, stuff so old that’re _really_ unreliable and they almost blew up the lab -”

“That’s amazing!” 

“- so the faculty agreed to give ya guys more money, and we were kinda relieved ‘cause we thought the money would be taken from the _stupid_ English program - honestly they don’t need all the shit the headmaster gives them, they’re the most stuck-up people I’ve ever met, they look the kinda guys who’d ride horses around the streets if they could -”

“Don’t lie, you’d totally do it if it wasn’t looked down upon -”

“- but the thing is, this school doesn’t really have a strong science department anymore. Sakusa, yes _him_ ,” Osamu gives him a sharp look, “he does complicated surgeries, the ones people don’t even attempt, and he’s one of the youngest surgeons in the entire country. He’s always been on thin ice with the administration ‘cause of his personality -”

“I’ll fuckin’ bet,” Atsumu grumbles, hyperaware of the way Sakusa had barged into his office and proceeded to roast the everliving _shit_ out of him.

“- but the last straw was when he told them to fuck off with the interviews on live TV - he _hates_ crowds, and touching people, and he gets real snappy - and I guess they’re takin’ his money as a punishment, and as to not look so guilty ..”

Osamu pauses and looks at him with a gaze that’s almost pitying.

“.. they’re pinnin’ it on researchers so that he thinks it’s our fault,” Atsumu finishes. “That’s - that’s so fucked up, _what -?!_ ”

Osamu sweeps all the salt onto the floor with a flourish, prompting a server to cast angry glares in his direction. “If you'd told him you were a professor, maybe he would’ve gone easier on you.”

“Why?”

“He respects those teaching the next generation, or somethin'.”

Atsumu stares at the rest of his fries, suddenly not hungry. “This is fucked up.”

“Academia’s a fucked up place, ‘Tsumu.”

Atsumu flounders, mouth opening and closing as he can’t find the words to describe the situation, “I transferred here to get away from fucked-up bosses, and yer tellin’ me that there’s some here, too?”

There’s a long, drawn-out sigh as his twin tilts his head up to study the dull gray of the diner ceiling, before closing his eyes and making a sound like a deflating balloon.

“There’s power-hungry bitches everywhere,” Osamu steals a ketchup-covered fry with a sigh, “yer gonna hafta get used to it.”

* * *

To avoid any further humiliation from the infamous Sakusa Kiyoomi himself (seriously, the dude is like a god to the students on campus), Atsumu stays low. He ducks under his desk whenever he hears the distinctive sound of Sakusa’s boots hitting the floor (a light and steady rhythm against the tile), to Osamu’s amusement - there’s a certain level of humiliation that one reaches once they’ve turned out the lights and hidden like a rat to avoid confrontation, but Atsumu’d rather feel the roaring shame than the scathing gaze that could probably turn people to stone.

It works for a couple weeks, where Atsumu slides under the desk at 12:15 on the dot each day (Sakusa appears at the end of the hallway like clockwork) but he doesn’t account for the encounters outside of office hours.

Atsumu adopted the “less-work, more-lecture” method after assigning an essay and realizing that grading what is virtually the same seven pages over and over again sucks ass and he’d rather not do that. He suddenly feels sympathy for his university professors, who had assigned fifteen-page papers and given him his results within a week, an impressive feat given that his class had fifty other students in it.

So where other teachers would use their office hours to grade essays and the like, he uses his to write out his lectures and outline different experiments for his students to try later in the semester.

He can’t get complacent with his desk job, he thinks - part of the reason he came to MSBY was that the research facilities were apparently state of the art, according to the shiny front page of the university’s website - he needs to find where those facilities are, so he can start work on a research project he’s been nursing for a couple months so far.

The lab, coded blue on the legend on the map app on his phone, isn’t in his building - he drags his index finger around the screen, trying to catch a glimpse of blue anywhere on the campus - there’s a shop selling limited-edition staples, but no lab, but then he swipes right and finds it.

It’s nestled in between the hospital and the library, and if Atsumu takes the 2 P.M. bus, he’d probably get there around 2:15, which would give him seven hours of lab time before he has to catch the last bus back to the office and lock up - but wait, if he just walks home he could stay for nine hours and get home around 11:45, which wouldn’t be the best time to sleep but whatever it takes for more time in the lab -

“Excuse me?”

He almost drops his phone.

Atsumu looks up with surprise to see a student, a full head shorter than him, shifting from foot to foot and looking at him with wide brown eyes. There’s a crumpled map of the campus loosely in his grip, and his lower lip is trembling as if he’s about to cry.

 _“_ Can I help ya?” Atsumu hasn’t seen this person around before - he would probably have remembered his name if he did, the bright orange hair being very distinctive - and the kid squirms and fiddles with his school bag. 

_“_ I’m Hinata, Hinata Shouyou, and um. Is Atsumu-senpai’s office around here? _”_

Atsumu puts on his friendliest smile and points at himself with a thumb, “That’s me, what didja need?”

The kid breathes a sigh of relief and shyly pulls a smoking styrofoam box out of his bag and presents him with a batch of samples - dark red, probably blood, sealed inside airtight glass containers - and places it on his desk.

“I’m, well, my professor told me to check these for bacterial infection, y’know, like sepsis for a patient, but I’m new here and I don’t know how to do it and if I don’t do it he’ll kick me out of the program - he already flunked one of my classmates who didn’t do his homework - we were learning how to diagnose a patient and he gave everyone jobs to sample different fluids we got from her and well, my high school never taught us how to analyze samples because we didn’t have the machines we needed, and if I get failed I’ll lose my scholarship, and I checked the staff list for anyone who could help me and you were a researcher so you probably know what you’re doing -” the kid babbles with no sign of slowing, and Atsumu puts up one hand to stop him.

“Shouyou-kun - can I call ya Shouyou-kun?” Atsumu waits for the other to nod, then continues. “Why is the box smoking?” 

They both stare at the steam coiling out of the slim openings in the box. “I didn’t want the samples to spoil so I grabbed some dry ice and stuck the samples in there.”

“That’s actually really smart, but aren’t blood samples supposed to stay inside the hospital?”

Shouyou’s lips tremble. Atsumu takes that as an answer in itself.

“Hey, hey, don’t cry,” he adds hastily once he sees the other’s growing distress, “we can keep this on the down low, don’t worry. If ya run back to the lab then they probably won’t even know it’s missing ..?”

“I can’t!” wails Shouyou, throwing both hands up in despair, “I don’t know how to _do_ the blood culture! I can’t go back and tell everyone I can’t do it, I’ll get kicked out!”

“Okay, calm down, blood cultures take time ta grow, ya have time to figure things out. Why dontcha ask yer professor? He has to explain how to do it if ya don’t know.”

“Sakusa-senpai doesn’t have _time_ ,” Shouyou cries, his voice rising in pitch as he begins to panic. “He’s always working with another patient, and he expects us to know everything already!”

Atsumu is terrible with crying people, and he can feel his stomach dropping to his feet. “.. Sakusa?”

“I worked really _really_ hard to get into this school for the medical program, ‘cause I wanna be a doctor and Sakusa-senpai is the best of the best, but it’s way harder than I expected it to be!” Shouyou is sobbing in earnest now, “Everyone is so smart, and Kageyama hates me ‘cause we’re on the same diagnostic team and I didn’t know how to even _take_ a blood sample and he’s _so much better than me_ and I wanna be like that too!”

Shouyou sniffles pathetically, and Atsumu feels his heart pinch painfully as the kid rubs at his eyes - he can still remember being one of the worst in his first hands-on lab, getting his first C grade in his first semester of college, and he thinks about how much _better_ he would have felt if someone, anyone, had held out a hand to him and offered him some help.

“I’ve never sampled blood for a clinical reason before,” he starts hesitantly, “but I can show ya how we check samples fer bacteria back in the lab if ya want ..?”

Shouyou wipes his eyes furiously and scrubs his cheeks clean of tear-stains. “You’d really help me?”

“If you thought I’d say no, why didja ask?”

“Atsumu-senpai!!!” Shouyou raises both hands to the sky with a triumphant beam, tears forgotten, and then grabs the box containing the vials of blood and dashes to the door (“ _Hey, be careful with that thing!”)_. “Thank you thank you thank you, come on I’ll show you to the lab and we can get started!”

“Right now?!” 

“My class ends in two hours!”

There’s a pause, and then the kid begins to wilt at his hesitation, and Atsumu feels too bad to let that stand. “Lemme get my stuff first,” he relents with a sigh.

Shouyou holds the door open for him with a glowing smile, and waits for him to get out of the office before bouncing through the hallway with a definite pep in his step.

* * *

Twenty minutes later, Atsumu swipes his ID card against the sensor and steps into the lab.

The lab is gorgeous. There’s no other word to describe it, all glass doors and white walls, a lab coat rack that actually _has_ coats hung up neatly, no crossover or entanglement - holy shit, is that the new Quiagen PyroMark Q24 propped up against the shelf over there? He allows a self-satisfied smirk cross his face: if they can afford _six thousand_ dollar machines, there’s no way the department is drowning in debt or anything.

He scans the name tags on the lab coats and finds one with his name embroidered on it, and quickly pulls it on (he’s never slacked on lab protocol, and he doesn’t plan to start now). 

Pulling a pair of disposable gloves out of the obligatory dispenser bolted onto the wall, Atsumu relishes in the feeling of standing beneath the harsh lab lights again (there’s something comforting about the lights for every lab being the same) and looks around for his designated part of the lab.

Snapping his goggles onto his face, he spots his lab station immediately - while the other stations are cluttered with flasks and running experiments, his is void of any activity at all, which is a given since he hasn’t been in here to start any tests yet.

It’s at that moment when he remembers his student, and he turns to call him over only to see him staring at awe at all of the technology in the room. Atsumu recognizes that look - it was the exact same one he’d seen in the mirror after his first venture into a real lab.

“Don’t get distracted by the flashing lights,” he jokes, ushering Shouyou towards his (admittedly empty) station and plopping him into the swivel chair near the counter.

“Blood cultures are simple,” Atsumu explains while searching the cabinets for broth, “yer gonna get two bottles of media per culture - you’ve got oxygenated blood and deoxygenated blood there, yeah?”

“I think so!” Shouyou’s voice carries throughout the quiet of the empty laboratory, “The darker ones are deoxygenated, right?”

“Well, it should’ve been labeled by the diagnostician in the room with the patient, but yeah,” he frowns as he reads the label on one nutrient soup - for all their fancy tech, the lab’s actual material is kinda old - if it expires in one week, then _technically_ it’s still good, right? “Bring ‘em over here, kid.”

Shouyou sets down the vials onto the lab countertop and settles down to watch him work with a beam ever present on his face. 

“Put on yer gloves.”

The kid scrambles to the PPE station and, very noisily, pulls on his gloves, the latex screeching noisily as it pulls against skin, then runs (“No running in the lab, kid!”) back to his side, jumping back onto the chair and putting his elbows on the lab station.

“Where’s yer lab coat?”

Shouyou leaps off the chair (“Be _careful_ in the lab!”) and fast walks over to the rack, ruffling through several coats before yanking one out and shrugging it on, thrusting one hand through a sleeve and then struggling with the other arm for a couple seconds, and Atsumu snickers at the sight.

Pulling a tube rack out of a neatly labeled drawer, Atsumu inserts the four vials at equal intervals and then pops open the broth medium, grimacing at the musty smell that immediately permeates the air around him. 

“We’re gonna put the blood in this broth, and _if_ there’re bacteria, they’re gonna eat up all the nutrients and grow until we can see the dark growth in the bottle. Of course,” he quickly adds, “we don’t _want_ the cultures to have bacteria in ‘em, but if there are, that’s a key component in figurin’ out what’s wrong with yer patient.”

Shouyou wrenches his goggles over his eyes and stares at the broth with a longing sigh. “If bacteria eat this stuff, do you think the broth tastes good?”

“What the fu - freak, kid?” Atsumu recoils, staring at the other with a horrified expression. “Shouyou-kun, number one rule of lab protocol - assume everything ya handle isn’t safe for touchin’ without protection, let alone eatin’ it!”

“I know that! I’m hungry! It was a hypothetical question!” Shouyou defends hotly, waving his hands in front of him in a placating manner. “Y’know, the bacteria in your gut, wouldn’t they just eat it?”

Atsumu chooses to ignore this question, half out of concentrating on ripping open a plastic bag containing needle tips and half out of the fact that he actually doesn’t know.

Taking his silence as permission to search the answer up for himself, Shouyou pulls his phone out of his pocket and noisily taps away at his keyboard. “How do you spell the thio - broth stuff?”

“Alright Shouyou-kun,” he crumples up the excess plastic and drops it into the garbage, “put yer phone away and pass me four empty bottles on that shelf over there.”

Shouyou practically throws his phone onto the counter in his haste to get to the shelf. 

After a couple seconds of Hinata standing on his tiptoes and struggling to reach the glass bottles, Atsumu decides to get them before he accidentally knocks all the fragile containers onto the floor.

He pours the thiogycollate broth into all four bottles with the murky brown liquid splashing up against the clear glass sides of the containers. Then Atsumu spends a couple of minutes pouring the soupy mixture back into the other bottles, trying to even out the amounts in each bottle.

When he’s finally satisfied with the even portions, he carefully thumbs the top of the syringe with a practiced movement, and inserts the needle into the opening at the tip. Atsumu slides the needle into the blood sample (which has thawed out a little after being left on the counter for a couple minutes) and draws 10 mL of the sample out, and then slips the tip into a bottle of broth and presses the stopper down to the bottom.

The blood slides into the soup and sunk inside the liquid easily, and after a second of making sure the blood has settled securely, Atsumu chucks the syringe into the garbage and unwraps a new one, repeating the process of blood to broth two more times, making sure to take a Sharpie and circle the sticker labelling if the sample is aerobic or anaerobic.

With the last sample, he offers the sample to Shouyou along with a freshly unwrapped syringe and needle and gives him a crooked smile. “Why don’t ya give it a try, kid?”

Shouyou’s eyes gleam, and he carefully copies Atsumu’s meticulous movements of transferring the blood to the bottle of soup and surprisingly does a decent job. 

“Not bad,” Atsumu grins, holding the bottle to the light and studying the cloud of blood suspended in the liquid, “for your first time, your hand is pretty steady!”

“Thank you Atsumu-senpai!” Shouyou watches him pack the cultures into the vial rack with a laser-sharp gaze. “Maybe Kageyama will stop calling me a dumbass if I know how to perform cultures now.”

Atsumu pauses. “A student’s been calling you a dumbass?”

“I mean, he’s kinda kidding? I don’t know, he doesn’t have many friends, so maybe he thinks that’s a friendly term?”

It’s a flimsy defense, but Atsumu sighs and gives it a rest. “If it advances into real harassment, go to the office and get ‘im expelled.” He’s never liked bullies.

“Yeah, yeah.” Hinata hastily changes the subject. “What do I do with these cultures now?”

Atsumu hands him the vial rack with a grin. “What we just did is stretching the uni’s rules - technically, I’m not allowed to do clinical work without signin’ a bunch of waivers, so you’re gonna get these back into the hospital lab and pretend like ya did it yerself.”

Shouyou stares at him with eyes that are the size of saucers and gasps, scandalized. “Atsumu-senpai …”

“If anyone asks about the security camera footage, ya came in here to watch me do the procedure on harmless chemicals, ‘kay?”

“I will!” Shouyou carefully slides the cultures into his bookbag, and then gives him a huge smile. “Thanks again!”

Atsumu waves him off with a smile. “It was nothin’, Shouyou-kun. Go beat that punk Kageyama’s ass fer me, ‘kay?”

Shouyou shucks his gloves in the trash, and then sprints out the door and into the hallway, and his footsteps die down as he gets further and further away from the lab.

The lab is eerily quiet without someone else in it, and Atsumu cleans his workspace and begins work on hsi research project - the breakage of the bacterial wall introduces foreign agents into the bacterial cell interior; if that foreign agent is a circular piece of DNA called a plasmid, then the bacterium can transcribe that piece of DNA and subsequently begin creating proteins derived from that strand of DNA. 

Holes in those walls can be induced by heat or by electric shocks; so when trying to get bacteria to express a certain protein, the cell is either warmed or shocked in order for it to uptake DNA; his research project involves the study of this process, so he resigns himself to buying E. coli by the pound for the foreseeable future.

He spends an hour searching for the least shady site he can find to order the bacteria from. When he finally finds a great deal with a guarantee that the specimens will get to the lab alive, the website politely informs him that the order won’t get to the lab for a couple days, and there isn’t much he can do in the lab without the bacteria to actually begin research, so he begins to clean up and wipe down his station. 

As he pulls Clorox wipes out of the dispenser, he notices a bright orange blur in the corner of his eye.

Shouyou left his phone in the lab. Of course.

Atsumu pulls his gloves off and washes his hands at the communal lab sink, marvelling at the not-broken hot water handle and soap dispenser.

Picking up the phone, he prepares to return it to the kid the next day, but then he realizes with a start that _Shouyou’s ID card is in a slot on the phone case._

Shouyou can’t get into his dorm room without it, and he won’t be able to buy lunch at the cafeteria either.

 _Think, Atsumu, think!_ He stares at the orange Garfield phone case. _He said that Sakusa’s class ended in two hours; we spent twenty minutes getting here, fifteen minutes doing the experiment, and then I spent an hour looking for bacteria specimens for my research, so that gives me… about twenty five minutes to find Shouyou in the hospital!_

He doesn’t even know where in the hospital Shouyou’s class is, but his conscience won’t let him leave Shouyou outside his dorm room all night.

_His roommate will just let him in_ , his mind tries to reason. _Just give it to him tomorrow._

_Yeah, but what if his roommate is a dick? Or is out partying somewhere?_

_He can just call them!_

_How?! His phone is right here!_

Atsumu grabs the phone and pushes the glass doors open, stepping into the blinding sunlight. He blinks for a couple seconds, trying to adjust to the suddenly searing light, and then looks around for the hospital.

Luck is on his side today, because when he looks to his right, the bright red cross of the MSBY Medical Center stares back at him. Atsumu power walks into the waiting room and straight into a crush of people.

There’s people on all sides, closing in on him, and Atsumu’s never been claustrophobic but this is extremely uncomfortable - his only saving grace is that since he didn’t take off his lab coat, the people around him think he’s a lab technician or something and give him a little space.

The heat from a congregation of this many people is sweltering - Atsumu can feel himself starting to sweat and he shoves his way to the edge of the waiting room where it’s way cooler.

There’s a petite blonde trying to settle the crowd, which, now that he’s a bystander, he recognizes them as reporters from different news companies. The blonde, raising her voice to be heard throughout the clamor of the mass of people, shouts, “Please calm down! This is a hospital waiting room, you are disturbing the patients!”

One of the reporters near the front sticks a microphone into the girl’s face brusquely, and yells, “Abe Watanabe, from Tokyo Media! Can you give us an update on Sakusa-san’s patient? Is she in recovery?”

Before the blonde can reply, another microphone finds its way to her mouth. “What can you tell us about his previous outburst against MSBY University? Is he planning on moving to a different hospital?”

“There are reports that he’s unhappy with the funding his department is getting right now, can you elaborate on that?”

“Please, Sakusa-san is teaching a class right now, please come back later!”

The girl’s words have no effect on the mob, and Atsumu can’t stand back and watch any longer; he strides straight up to the front and puts his hands on his hips. “Everyone! You heard the lady! Sakusa isn’t here, so get the hell out and stop botherin’ the hospital staff!”

The man in the front, brandishing his microphone like a weapon, whips it at him and the vultures descend. “Who are you? Do you have any relation to the hospital?”

“No,” he snaps, “but I can get security in here if ya don’t stop harassing the patients and blockin’ the entrance.”

Atsumu’s bluffing, of course, he doesn’t even know if the campus _has_ security, but it does the trick - after a tense stare-off with the pushy reporter, they eventually clear out, only to set up camp in front of the hospital like mosquitoes to a window on a midsummer’s night.

The receptionist - Yachi, by her name tag - turns to him and pulls him into a grateful hug. Her head reaches the middle of his upper arm, and he awkwardly pats her on the head, feeling extremely uncomfortable with the situation as a whole.

“Thank you so much, sir, I’m not actually the receptionist but I’m interning and the _actual_ receptionist, Kiyoko-san, she left for a second and they came in and started asking so many questions and I’m so grateful that you came in -”

“It’s okay, it’s fine!” he says hastily, cutting her long-winded thank you short. “I just needta find a student in Sakusa’s class, do ya know where I could find them?”

Yachi steps back behind her desk and pulls out a clipboard. “Sakusa-san should be in the west wing right now… I can only let you through if you’re university or hospital staff, so could I see some ID?”

He flashes his ID at her, and she gives him a shaky smile. “Go on through, and thanks again!”

Atsumu doesn’t quite run down the hallway, but it’s close - he has no idea where the west wing is, and he’s in a bit of a time crunch - checking his phone, he realizes he has fifteen minutes to find Shouyou and return his phone to him before his class gets out.

Checking all the overhead signs, he jogs down identical hallway after identical hallway, rounding corners and catching the gaze of more than one confused nurse and doctor, pushing open door after door, passing through white tiled corridors, sliding past patients -

Atsumu is fucked.

Well, no, if he was being fucked he’d find it much more enjoyable than what’s happening right now.

Staring up at the same mural he’s come across for the fourth time in a row, Atsumu despairs at the situation he finds himself in - he’s lost in a hospital, holding a student’s phone, also holding the student’s ID card, the one the kid needs to enter his dorm, and there’s nobody around to ask for help.

He wearily opens another hospital door and stares down at the same hallway it feels like he’s seen for the last _year_. 

_Maybe if I can find a nurse or someone_ , he muses as he pushes open another door, _they know this place better than I do, they’ll help me -_

Atsumu crashes into someone and barely manages to stay standing, albeit on wobbly legs. He begins to apologize, only to see - 

“It’s you.”

Sakusa stares back at him, looking unfairly good with rumpled hair and a skewed face shield, his mask pushed down to his neck in a bold fashion statement. He adjusts his gown with a scowl, looking completely unphased from the collision.

“What are you doing here? Your lab is next door, did you get lost?”

Atsumu bristles, crossing arms against his chest and leaning forward with a sneer. “I just came out of the lab, thanks. I need to know where -”

“How did you get past the receptionist?” Sakusa continues, cutting him off. “Entry-level researchers aren’t allowed back here, only clinical researchers are.”

“She let me in - hey, this is important! Where is your -”

Pulling a pen from behind his ear, Sakusa flips a pocket-sized notebook out of his breast pocket with a deadpan stare. “I need to know who broke protocol and let you in here. If they let you in, who knows who else could get past the front desk.”

“Look, they said university personnel could get in -”

“Last I checked, researchers aren’t university personnel -”

“I’m a professor! She let me in! Now, can you tell me where your class is?”

Sakusa pauses. “You didn’t mention that when we last talked.”

“Yeah, ‘cause you were riding my ass about yer department’s precious funding!”

There’s a silence.

Atsumu turns to leave, growling, “If yer not gonna tell me where to go, then I’ll go find someone else to tell me.”

He’s made it three steps towards the door when he hears a quiet “wait.”

Turning back, he realizes with a start that Sakusa actually looks kind of apologetic. “What?”

“What are you looking for?”

“One of your students left his phone in my office,” he lies, knowing full well that Sakusa would have a conniption fit if he admitted to letting a student that _wasn’t_ on an internship into the lab. “His name is Hinata Shouyou, orange-hair, surprisingly short ..?”

Sakusa sighs at the mention of the energetic ball of sunshine and waves a hand in a _come-thither_ gesture. “Follow me, I was about to go check on the students anyway.”

Atsumu hesitantly follows behind the dark-haired doctor, noticing with interest how the other doctors seem to throw themselves out of the way. 

They leave the hospital, which makes Atsumu feel kind of stupid for running around the hospital like a madman, and enter a university lecture hall a short walk away, and _holy shit there are so many kids._

Atsumu’s lectures consisted of fifteen, maybe twenty students on a good day, but there have to be _hundreds_ of kids stuffed into this room like sardines - Sakusa enters, and Atsumu marvels at the immediate silence that follows.

“Hinata Shouyou,” Sakusa calls out, “your professor has your phone.”

A familiar head of orange hair practically flies down the lecture hall steps and in front of Atsumu in two seconds flat.

“Atsumu-senpai, you keep saving my life!!!” Shouyou gingerly places his phone into his book bag and then bends himself at the waist at a strict ninety-degree angle. “Thank you for not letting me sleep outside my dorm tonight!”

“It’s no big deal,” he laughs at Shouyou’s exaggerated bow and pulls him back into a standing position, “keep an eye on yer things, kid.”

Shouyou nods sharply, then jogs back up the stairs to his seat, where he begins whispering with a green-haired kid with freckles. 

Turning to leave, Atsumu flashes a bright smile at Sakusa with a “thanks for not leavin’ me in the hospital to starve, Sakusa.”

The doctor nods at him, pulling his mask up to hide his (pink?) cheeks, “It’s no problem, Miya.”

Atsumu power walks out of the hall, trying not to blush at the handsome professor not yelling at him for once. 

.. his standards are so fucking low, holy fuck.

* * *

The next time he meets the cold surgeon, Atsumu is checking out books on bacterial structure in the library.

The samples he ordered had been delivered to the lab a couple days earlier, and, after spending his every waking hour in the lab surrounded by E. coli cultures, his supply of pre-written lectures dwindled until he had no more and an administration-reviewed class the next day. So he’s here, in the library, speed-reading a stack of textbooks for a suitable lecture subject.

He adjusts his reading glasses with a sigh, wishing he could leave and get some fresh air, but alas - his unfinished lecture notes stare back at him, the scribbly writing getting worse and worse near the end. 

The table he sits at is right next to a window, and sunlight streams onto his book and illuminates the hazy dust particles floating in the air. There’s a golden sheen to everything in its path, and Atsumu has to admit that the old, cozy library is beautiful in the afternoon sunshine.

Tearing his gaze away from the prismatic colors from the stained-glass windows, he turns his attention onto the open textbook. There’s an interesting tangent about Gram-negative bacteria and their capsules obtained from their host cells, and he scrawls out a tentative conclusion paragraph - it’s not very good, but what first drafts are? - and prepares to reread and edit the whole paper when a shadow falls over the page.

“What are you doing?”

“I’m reading, Sakusa, what else do ya come to a library for?”

Sakusa snorts, and Atsumu chokes on his own spit at how endearing the sound is. “Thought you’d be holed up in your lab slaving over your bacterial cultures.”

“How’d ya know I work with bacteria?” Atsumu slips a bookmark into his notebook and peers up at the masked doctor above his glasses.

“Hinata has a loose tongue,” he replies, and pulls out a chair across the table from him and placing his own two-foot stack of papers onto the surface. Sakusa takes off his jacket, folding it neatly and placing it on the table next to him, leaving him in a thin long-sleeved flannel, and then pulls out a red pen and begins marking up his tests with a vengeance.

Atsumu tries to focus on his notes, he really does, but Sakusa and his stupid moles on his dumb forehead are impossible to ignore. He props his chin up onto his elbows and squints at Sakusa’s papers.

“Whatcha doin’?”

Sakusa shoots him a sharp look, but he still answers. “I gave a test in class a couple days ago.”

Pulling one of the tests towards him, and ignoring Sakusa’s glare, he reads the directions - a simple test on proper PPE protocol - and then his eye catches on the dates.

“Yer givin’ them back to the kids tomorrow?”

Sakusa’s face darkens and he sinks almost imperceptibly in his chair. “It was a misprint, it was supposed to be returned to the students next week. I didn’t catch the mistake until one of my students asked me about it today.” 

Atsumu studies the barely there slump of his shoulders, the dark bags under his eyes, and even though Sakusa yelled at him the first time they met, he suddenly feels a wave of sympathy for the overworked surgeon/professor.

“That’s a lot of tests, do ya need any help?”

“Don’t you have work to do?” Sakusa’s attention is fully onto him, and he shivers under the hypnotic gaze.

Atsumu shrugs, and discreetly puts his notes back into his bag with a smile. “Yeah, but that’s a lot of tests to grade, and ya probably needta get the grading done by tomorrow to save face, right?”

There’s a pause, and Atsumu watches Sakusa weighing his options (relent to the annoying blond and lessen the amount of work, or refuse on account of his dignity and have a sleepless night of grading), and he can see the moment Sakusa gives in.

Sakusa tosses him a pen and answer sheet and gives him a grateful nod, and Atsumu gets to work.

As he grades, he notices that some, maybe a third, of the people taking the tests did horribly - he sees almost twice as many 50s and 60s than 90s, and he smiles as he marks Shouyou’s test.

(What’s the number one rule of safety in the hospital?

_NO EATING THE CHEMICA_

_read the question wrong, sry, i mean .. don’t mess up?? Or don’t run?_

Atsumu snickers at his answer, and scrawls out a 88 and a smiley face and a thumbs up at the top of his page.)

Kageyama Tobio’s paper is right underneath Shouyou’s, and he receives a 98. The handwriting is scarily perfect, and his work is extremely easy to read, and that pisses Atsumu off a little bit - like the kid is _too_ perfect, kind of? He draws a smiley face, although he leaves off the thumbs up.

The rest of the tests are kind of boring, although one of the tests scores a 0 and he’s kind of impressed that they did, given one of the questions was a freebie (what is your professor’s name?). A lot of the kids spell the name wrong, and he laughs outright at one of the answers that just reads “saxsa omi ??”.

He starts to nudge Sakusa’s arm before remembering that Osamu had warned him not to touch him, and instead waves his hand in front of his face. “Hey, Sakusa, didja even introduce yerself to the class?”

Sakusa looks up from his stack of tests, annoyed, and sets his pen down with a sigh. “Yes, I did.”

“This kid’s callin’ ya Saxsa,” Atsumu bites his lip to stop laughter from bubbling up from watching Sakusa’s face sour, “Saxsa Omi. Omi, how does that make ya feel?”

“Quit calling me that.”

“Omi, don’t get upset with me …”

“I’m leaving.”

“Ya wouldn’t leave yer tests here, wouldja Omi?”

Sakusa adjusts his mask, pulling it up over the bridge of his nose. “Why did I agree to let you help again?”

Atsumu sticks his tongue out, and pulls another set of tests from the shrinking stack of papers. “It’s ‘cause ya asked so nicely, Omi-Omi …”

“I didn’t ask, you offered - and stop making the name cuter!”

The librarian sticks her head out from behind one of the bookshelves and shushes Sakusa, and Atsumu has to stick his hand into his mouth to muffle his laughter. Sakusa glares at him and Atsumu pinches his thigh to stop himself from lapsing back into giggles.

They work in silence for a couple of minutes, before Atsumu hears a thunk - Sakusa’s pen slipped from his hand, he thinks, and the man in question is - oh.

There’s something breathtaking about the way ribbons of liquid gold weave their way throughout the dark, feathery strands of hair and splay across the peacefully dozing face of the busiest man in the world; the elegant slope of his nose, the fullness of his lips, the cut of his jawline - 

\- the stained glass casts a kaleidoscope of different colors onto his face, muted blues dancing across his cheeks, soft violets caressing his eyelashes, dim carmine making its home at his temples, viridescent swirls splashing on the swell of his neck -

and Atsumu gently drapes the neatly folded jacket around Sakusa’s sleeping form and returns to his work, because if he stares for too long, he won’t be able to look away.

-

Sakusa sleeps for a solid three hours. Atsumu doesn’t want to leave, because then people might steal Sakusa’s stuff, and he’s not a bad enough person to warrant theft.

That being said, Atsumu finishes grading all the papers, completes his lecture notes, finalizes lesson plans for the next month, and even outlines a plasmid uptake lab before Sakusa wakes up.

When he stirs, Atsumu busies himself with pretending to scribble notes in the margins of his notebook and resolutely looking away from Sakusa’s direction, giving him time to wake up fully before he starts teasing him.

Sakusa pulls his phone out to check the time, then abruptly whispers a harsh “fuck!”

“Omi, watch yer language! We’re in a _school_!”

“You didn’t have a problem cursing me out last month,” Sakusa retorts, “why didn’t you wake me up?”

Atsumu pauses - _why didn’t he wake him up?_ \- before answering simply, “You looked like ya needed a nap.” 

Sakusa scrutinizes his expression for any signs of dishonesty only to find none, and only then does he look down at the neat pile of papers in front of him with a calculating gaze.

“You did all the grading.”

“Yep.” Atsumu takes his reading glasses off and wipes them with the hem of his shirt, frowning when the smudging around the lenses only becomes more prominent.

“Why?”

“I toldja I’d help ya, I don’t go back on my word.” He tries again, swiping at the glass with the fabric of his hoodie, but the cloudy smear is persistent and won’t disappear.

Sakusa is silent, before reaching forward and snatching his reading glasses, and carefully cleaning them with a tissue before handing them back.

He pushes his papers into his backpack and stands up smoothly, pushing his chair in and collecting his scattered pens on the table.

“I’ll see you around, Miya.”

And with that, Sakusa steps across the center and vanishes through the library double doors, and Atsumu takes the olive branch extended and resolves to put the first day encounter behind him.

* * *

The library meet-ups begin to be a reoccurring trend, and Atsumu would be lying if he said he didn't look forward to them - the stiff, prickly surgeon melts under the warm library atmosphere, and more often than not, falls asleep while grading papers and writing tests.

By the third time Sakusa falls asleep at the table, Atsumu is sorely tempted to snap a picture of his peaceful face, but that would probably be a breach of his privacy or something, and Atsumu may be a jerk but he's not the type of asshole that would betray someone's trust, so he settles for savoring the moments while they last.

When Sakusa isn't sleeping, he's rolling his eyes at Atsumu's teasing and telling him to shut up in a loud whisper - on the rare days Sakusa lets him help out with grading, he can't help but notice the contrast between his own loopy, messy scrawl and Sakusa's type-font writing - and Atsumu feels like they're growing closer. 

Sakusa offers him a small nod when they pass each other in the hallways, and Atsumu crashes his lectures more than once to return Sakusa's papers, after accidentally taking the wrong stack of notes - Sakusa's students stare at him in surprise, but he gradually becomes a fixture in their lectures, and they begin to wave at him as he walks through the campus - so basically, Atsumu's feeling on top of the world.

It's an unassuming Thursday, and Atsumu's tired of the sterile, blank walls of his lab and he treks to the library through snowy streets, grimacing at how his socks dampen through the thin layer of his Converse (the first snow of the season came early), walking to a table near the window and, more importantly, near a heater.

He opens a lab report, ready to file in how his latest experiment's results hadn't been anything new and in fact had wasted an entire week of his life, when Sakusa pulls out a chair right next to him and slumps with his head in his arms.

"..you okay, Omi-kun?"

Sakusa replies with an unintelligible groan, and then looks up at him, and  _ holy crap  _ the crescents under his eyes are  _ huge _ . "There's been an outbreak of MRSA at the hospital."

_ MRSA... _ he thinks about it for a second, and then a faint memory from AP Bio surfaces - "Methicillin Resistant something ..?"

"Close. Methicillin Resistant Staphylococcus Aureus," Sakusa mumbles, "It's an antibiotic resistant bacterium and it's tearing through the weakened patients like wildfire. I've been taking double shifts to cover the doctors on hand, but it's still ..."

Atsumu shudders at the thought, and gingerly pats him on the back with what he hopes is a comforting smile. "Omi, ya gotta take care of yerself before ya worry 'bout others. Yer no use to anyone if yer 'bout to pass out."

"I know that!" Sakusa buries his face into his windbreaker with another groan and mutters, "I could kiss the person who develops a treatment for them," and then he's out like a light.

Atsumu stares.

Sakusa doesn't stir, so maybe he was just imagining things? There's no way Sakusa said that. To a microbiology professor. Is he trying to hint at something? Was that a subtle way of asking him out? Why would he say that? He’s probably joking, Atsumu reasons, there’s no reason to get worked up over a sleep-deprived person’s delirious ramblings, but … 

Atsumu quietly stands up and doesn't quite sprint to the bookshelf, but it's close - he checks out a couple books on antibiotic resistance, on horizontal gene transfer, on medical terms for the resistant cells - and he ends up lugging almost fifteen books across campus to his lab, after Sakusa wakes up and goes on his way of course.

_ I don’t like him _ , he thinks resolutely,  _ I just want to kiss him. Like _

He’s not even sure if Sakusa remembers saying those words, because he acts completely normal otherwise - there’s no difference in his demeanor, and he’s still the same cold urchin like always, if not run down from the cases of MRSA that apparently keep multiplying in the hospital - and at first, Atsumu works his ass off for the off-chance that Sakusa might give him a kiss, but…

Sakusa leaves his jacket at the library one day, and Atsumu heads to the hospital only to see workers with masks, goggles, covered head to toe in protection - at the front desk, Yachi takes the jacket with a weary smile and hoses it down with an alcohol-based disinfectant, and Atsumu realizes that he is  _ so _ selfish - for working when his sole motivation is a kiss? 

Shouyou’s lost his bounce, instead giving him a weak attempt at a smile as he rushes through the hallways carrying a bucket filled to the brim with masks, followed by another student scribbling results onto a clipboard and wrestling a pack of gowns open and shrugging them on.

He feels sick to his stomach as he watches the families of these patients sobbing and reaching out beyond a plastic curtain, unable to step any closer to the patients for fear of ending up right beside them and suffering through the hellish experience themselves -

Atsumu resolves to find a treatment for the people dying in the ICU beds, covered in bright red boils and writhing in agony from the bacteria invading their bloodstream; for the people working themselves to the bone to make sure their patients have the highest chance of survival; for the sick and elderly watching in horror as people succumb right in front of them, knowing they might be next.

Yet for all his resolve, weeks fly by, and he’s no closer to finding a cure for superbugs than astronauts are to reaching Mars.

Sakusa still acknowledges him when they see each other, but those times grow less and less frequent as Sakusa starts to take extra hours in the hospital - from what Atsumu can hear, the outbreak of MRSA has gotten so bad, they’ve taken to an actual quarantine of the wings - and he works harder, assigning less work to his students and spending the majority of his time in the lab.

It hits him from where he lies in the lab, head down on the counter in sheer inability to even function - if antibiotic resistance is spread through plasmids, free floating pieces of DNA, then all he has to do is stop the bacterial cells from taking in those plasmids - and, if he thinks about it, he just has to take his previous research  _ enhancing  _ bacterial wall breakage and reverse it so that he  _ blocks  _ the bacterial wall breakage instead.

There are certain biological components, proteins, that inhibit bacterial competence - so if he tweaks that, and engineers it into a more specific form -

he might just be onto something.

-

For the first time in a couple of months, Sakusa sits down next to him at a library desks and mumbles, “The outbreak’s been contained, so I took a break from working.”

Atsumu glances up from the textbook he’s been poring over and gives him a bright smile. “That’s great, Omi-Omi!”

Sakusa physically recoils at his face and harshly whispers, “You’ve got eye bags.”

“My research rests for no one!”

“Well, don’t kill yourself over it, go get some sleep.”

Atsumu shakes his head, “I spent too much time in the lab, and now I have to finish this lecture before class starts in -” he checks his phone, “- twenty minutes, so I can’t afford to sleep right now, Omi.”

Sakusa studies his face, and replies with a muttered “fine”. They work side-by-side in an amiable silence, and Atsumu can feel his head drooping after only a couple minutes of writing - he pinches his thigh to wake himself up, but his head keeps gravitating downwards - fucking gravity -

“Why don’t I do your lecture for you?”

“I couldn’t ask ya to do that,” Atsumu laughs quietly, scrawling out another half-assed note in the margins - get fucked, future Atsumu - “It’s not yer problem, anyway. I misjudged the amount of time I’d be spending in the lab, it was my fuck-up.”

Sakusa snatches his papers from right under him with a small smile - and holy shit, he has  _ dimples _ \- and says, “You helped me with my grading that one time, so we’ll call it even.”

_ And that was the moment, that right there!  _ screams his subconscious,  _ he grabbed my heart and fuckin’ booked it! _

Before Atsumu’s sleep-addled brain can react, Sakusa takes his folder and his class notes and drags him outside, one hand clamped firmly over the soft cotton of his hoodie and the point of contact feels like a lightning strike, splitting at his nerves and diffusing throughout his entire body - and then just as quickly as it started, Sakusa lets go and stares at him with one eyebrow raised.

“Where’s your classroom?”

“It’s in the MSBY East Building, but I can’t force ya to do my -”

Sakusa sets off at a brisk pace, and Atsumu jogs along behind him with a feeling of deja vu as people get the hell out of his way. His longass legs reach the door way faster than Atsumu does, and by the time he pushes his way into the classroom, Sakusa is already standing in the front of the room and reciting the lesson plan to twenty or so bewildered kids. 

He likes him. Atsumu likes this cold, stupid - well, he was already attracted to him, hence the work for the not-even-promised kiss, but now he  _ likes _ him. He would be happy to start  _ dating  _ him. 

The people around him are oblivious to his inner turmoil, and he collapses into one of the lecture hall seats and decides the problem can wait.

-

He wakes up to Sakusa gently shaking him awake. 

“I’d love to keep teaching your students, but there’s an emergency at the hospital and I have to go.”

Atsumu nods blearily and gives him a grateful smile, knowing that he probably looks like garbage, all mussed-up hair and rumpled clothes but what can you do, y’know?

Sakusa strides out of the classroom, leaving Atsumu with his students - and immediately after Sakusa leaves, they bombard him with questions -

“Atsumu-senpai, was that  _ Sakusa-san _ ?”

“Did he just? Give us your lecture?”

“Are you guys friends? What the heck?”

“I graded his tests one time, so he repaid the favor by doin’ my lecture fer him. It’s not that complicated.” Atsumu stretches, working out all the kinks in his spine, and grabs his stuff. “I’m going to go sleep for the next couple of years, so later.”

* * *

“I haven’t seen ya around in like, two months,” Osamu’s tinny voice comes out of his phone speaker, “Yet rumor has it that you’ve bewitched Sakusa into being yer boyfriend. Judging by the twenty eight years of knowledge I’ve amassed ‘bout yer mating habits -”

“‘Samu, why the fuck wouldja call them that?”

“- there’s no way ya got  _ Sakusa Kiyoomi _ to fall head over heels for you while bein’ a recluse in yer lab.”

“Bein’ a lab recluse is perfectly fine -” Atsumu pauses as he fully comprehends the sentence. “Hey, whaddaya mean there’s no way?”

“Exactly what I said.” Osamu heaves a sigh over the phone. “The virology professor, Komori Motoya - the nicest person I’ve ever met. Always cheerful, great personality - he asked Sakusa out last year, and he got rejected, like brutally.  _ So brutally. _ So like.. what the fuck, ‘Tsumu?”

Atsumu stirs his instant ramen with a single chopstick - the other one fell off the table and he doesn’t feel like picking it up. “Sure, we got off to a rocky start, but then I charmed him with my amazing looks - hey, stop laughing - and we’re friends now! Arentcha proud of me?”

“See, that’s the problem. Yer not charming at  _ all _ . Didja drug him? If  _ Komori _ couldn’t get Sakusa to date him, then who thinks that  _ you _ have a chance?”

“Why is it so hard for ya to think that  _ maybe _ I made a friend by myself?” If he flips a spoon handle end first, he could use that as a chopstick, kind of. 

Osamu groans over the line. “‘Tsumu. Sakusa, in all of the four years I have worked with him, has _never_ had any friends beyond Komori. And now, everyone’s sayin’ ya call him a cutesy nickname, barge into his lectures to return his stuff, people’ve seen you two in the library together, and that Sakusa _legit_ _likes you!_ ”

Atsumu successfully nabs a bunch of noodles with his makeshift chopsticks and fist pumps the empty air. “Look, he felt guilty ‘bout yelling at me the first time we met, and then we started doin’ work in the library together. There’s nothin’ else to it. We’re also not dating.”

“Bullshit!” Osamu sounds more and more frustrated the more he talks. “What didja do?”

“I didn’t  _ do  _ anything except be myself!” He’s starting to get frustrated as well, that ugly feeling of  _ I’m telling the fucking truth but you won’t believe me, what the fuck? _ “Seriously, ‘Samu, why would I lie?”

Osamu doesn’t have an answer for that, apparently, and Atsumu slurps up his noodles while Osamu stews on the other end of the line.

Then Osamu, twinstinct activated, groans and Atsumu can  _ hear _ him start shaking his head. “.. you like him, don’t you.”

“Whatever. Keep yer secrets. I actually called ta let ya know ‘bout the uni’s research project thing - there’s a presentation at the end of winter break, and they give a grant to whoever’s research has the biggest impact on the scientific community, and you were tryin’ to get money, right?”

“‘Samu?”

“What?”

“I love ya.”

“Gross.”

“Hey!”

* * *

Komori, a short man with toffee-colored hair and oval eyebrows, comes to his lab one day and just kinda looks around. It’s kind of weird, but he strikes up a lively conversation while examining the glass of the windows and compliments his work, so this guy can’t be totally bad.

On the other hand, he’s subtly competing with him for Sakusa’s attention, so ..? 

They chat about their research, and it’s a nice break from hours and hours of loneliness in the lab - at least, until Komori gets to the reason why he’s really there.

“You’ve been getting really close to Sakusa lately,” Komori’s smile seems a little too tight, grasping one of his empty test tubes and holding it up to the light, “How’d that happen?”

Atsumu looks up from his centrifuge and thinks about the best way to get under his skin. “Omi’s actually kinda decent, we meet up at the library sometimes to grade papers together.”

There’s a crash as the test tube falls to the floor. Bingo.

They both flinch back, and Komori stands up quickly to grab a dustpan. “I’m so sorry, my fingers must have slipped!”

“It’s all good,” Atsumu stares at the pieces of broken glass and scoots his chair a little further from the mess. “Thank god it was empty, huh?”

Komori sweeps the glass up and disposes of it, and there’s a not-really comfortable silence.

“Listen, Atsumu-san.” His voice is quiet and serious, a far cry from his bubbly demeanor the first few minutes Atsumu had known him, and Atsumu thinks,  _ yep, here it comes, he’s gonna ask me to stay away from Sakusa so he can confess to him again - _

“I .. how do I say this .. I really like Sakusa, and I would really appreciate it if you could help me with confessing to him at the uni presentation next month, and since you two have become friends, maybe you could help me ..?”

There are moments in life, where someone says something so far out of left field that it kind of leaves one reeling and confused, like  _ what the fuck? _

Atsumu had been expecting something like, ‘ _ stay away from my man _ ,’ which Atsumu would follow up with  _ ‘Sorry, but I like Omi too, so no lol’ _ . Or maybe  _ ‘Sakusa is mine!’  _ and then he’d reply with  _ ‘who’s he been hanging out with lately? Oh yeah, that’s me whoops!’ _

But  _ ‘please help me confess’ _ ?? He can’t accept, obviously, on account that he  _ really fucking likes Sakusa _ , but he can’t refuse, because then he’ll look like an asshole - wait, he doesn’t give a fuck about being an asshole or not.

“Didn't cha confess to him last year?” Atsumu makes his voice as innocent and light as possible, relishing in the pinched expression Komori sports. He turns back to his work, studying a pellet of bacterial remains right out of the centrifuge. “I mean, that’s what ‘Samu told me, anyway.”

Komori tenses, the corners of his lips pulling into a frown. “Sakusa wasn’t ready then. We’ve gotten a lot closer, and he’ll definitely say yes this time, and if you’ll help me, I’ve got it all planned out - my research is being combed over as we speak - and I don’t want to sound presumptuous, but the Lab Analysis Grant of Excellence is definitely mine this year, did you hear that Bokuto-san is doing a study on  _ avian fecal matter? _ Like, compared to that, y’know, viral capsomere experiments are gonna be the best goddamn thing the judges are gonna see, excuse my language -”

“I’m sorry?” Atsumu was just gonna let this guy down nicely, say an excuse about how he was actually presenting at the event too, but  _ this guy. _ The worst part is that Komori isn’t doing this out of malice - his eyes are gleaming with innocence, he’s waving his hands in excitement, he _ really _ thinks that his research is going to win the grand prize. 

“Yeah, the grant has been Oikawa’s three years in a row, like, c’mon, how many times can they award him for finding another star? But I have a real chance this year of winning it, and a real chance of getting the guy too, y’know?” 

“Komori, yer a great guy, and well, normally I’d love to do this fer ya, but I’m gonna be presentin’ my research, too, so unfortunately, and I dunno if I’ll be able to help ya while holdin’ the certificate for my win ..”

Komori visibly blanches, mouth opening and closing in a  _ what the fuck did you just say _ kinda fashion - Atsumu knows it well, he’s seen the look on almost everyone he’s known for more than two weeks.

“I - uh, is that a no?”

“Yes, Komori. It’s a no.”

“Oh. Okay.” Komori backs up and pastes a careful smile on his face. “It was nice seeing you, Atsumu, I. Um. Good luck with your project.”

Atsumu flashes him a sharp smile, fox-like and dangerous. “You too, Komori.”

* * *

Atsumu is  _ so  _ close to a breakthrough in his research - he’s gotten a reliable response in his bacterial specimens of shutting down competence, so that the antibiotic resistance gene can’t be transferred from group to group and slowing down the spread of superbugs, but he needs to run some final tests on the biological component and make sure it isn’t a fluke - he’s  _ so close he can taste it _ , and he’s never licked an agar plate full of antibiotic resistant bacteria in his life but it would probably taste like success.

He hums a happy tune, swiping his ID over the sensor like always, brushing snow off the handle and then wrenching the door open with a smile broad on his face, when he notices a flyer stuck on the glass wall of the lab - transparent tape lines the edges of the page, whoever put it up definitely wanted him to see it.

_ “Attention: This facility has been marked for repurposing; from  _ _ bacterial research laboratory _ _ to  _ _ clinical virology laboratory _ _ \- MSBY University will facilitate the transfer of all equipment to the  _ _ hospital _ _ and all employees should  _ _ dispose of their experiments in a safe manner _ _ in the  _ _ one month _ _ after this notice has been placed in the  _ _ laboratory _ _. _ ”

His stomach sinks.

He rips it off of the wall and reads it again, and again, and again -  _ there has to be a mistake _ , he thinks,  _ the lab isn’t gonna be repurposed for some _ , he checks the flyer again,  _ a clinical virology laboratory _ ? His head spins - he’s in the middle of a breakthrough, they can’t, they can’t  _ do _ this, what - who - how -

Atsumu drops his bag onto the floor of the lab and  _ runs _ , running towards the office like a madman - he sprints across campus and slams the faculty doors open with a bang, and goes straight to the receptionist -

“There’s a mistake,” he begs, “The lab can’t be given up to some virology people, that’s - I - my research, I’m on the verge of somethin’ _big_ -”

The receptionist just gives him a pitying smile and explains, “Sorry, but the virology professor and the head of surgery came to an agreement a couple days ago, didn’t they talk with you?”

“They already have a lab, why’re they movin’ now?!”

“Professor Komori said that the windows in their lab aren’t bringing in enough light to see, so they need to relocate and close their facility for - Sir, are you okay? The decision has already been reached - all the heads of the different medical sciences have been in agreement, and the moving company has already been paid - sir, you’re shaking, do you need me to call someone?”

He’s getting kicked out over a window.

Atsumu shakes his head dumbly and walks out of the room as if in a trance - they’re kicking him out of the lab - he has one month to wrap up his experiments - the heads of medicine  _ agreed _ to destroying his  _ lab _ for their fucking virology professor, viruses don’t even have  _ cellular machinery _ , what even -

Wait. 

The gears turn incredibly slowly, but once set in motion they won’t stop - Sakusa is the head of surgery, he would’ve heard about the demolition, she had said that they had all _agreed_ , Sakusa had agreed to the switch of his life-saving research to a \- he doesn’t want to believe it, that _Sakusa_ had _knowingly agreed_ to kicking him out of work, his research -

\- it’s not even the fucking lab closure that makes him the most pissed off, it’s that  _ Sakusa _ hadn’t told him anything about it, they decided to dump him out of his work for the  _ virology people, _ like his research was worth less than some fucking people who didn’t want to turn on some fucking lights -

\- the guy had asked Sakusa out, so  _ of course  _ he gets fucking privilege, getting his fucking lab by fucking the head of surgery -

\- they had been getting closer, Sakusa didn’t yell at him for existing anymore, they were  _ civil _ , Sakusa had  _ smiled _ at him once, there’s no way he would’ve  _ ruined his life like this _ -

but there’s no other explanation.

He walks back to his lab, feeling like someone has skewered him on the tip of a wooden dowel, and picks up his bag off the floor - his experiments won’t do themselves - and he increases the scope of his confirming experiments, forcing himself to work through the static that’s made its home on the surface of his brain. If he has one month left, he’s gonna get his time’s worth and get this stupid research done so that he can submit his research in time for that  _ stupid _ university presentation -

maybe if he does well at the presentation, they’ll give him enough money to stop the switch, maybe they’ll let him keep his lab, ‘cause -

four months after his arrival to MSBY, Atsumu has grown to love his lab - one of his chair wheels may be broken, but it doesn’t stop him from sliding across the lab on three functional wheels; there’s one Erlenmeyer flask that he absolutely hates (the measurements on the side are in a bright red instead of the blue literally  _ all _ of the other flasks have theirs in), but it stays in his cabinet because it’s the first one he ever used in the lab -

he’s never been so glad of his finely trained motor skills, and his body goes on autopilot, pipetting the biological component-blocker into his dishes teeming with dangerous bacteria -

In what feels like no time at all, the timer he set to remind him of curfew goes off, and Atsumu tucks his cultures into an incubator and takes off all his PPE, still in a daze. He grabs his bag and walks straight home, and then curls up in his bed and doesn’t sleep.

* * *

He marches into Sakusa’s lecture the next day, determined to wrangle some answers out of him.

“Could I speak to you outside?” he growls, making it clear from his tone he expects Sakusa to comply.

Sakusa looks taken aback at his tone, but follows him outside anyway and asks, “Miya? What’s going on?”

“I thought we were fuckin’ friends!” Atsumu shouts as soon as the door closes behind them, crumpling the stupid notice in his grip, “We were  _ friends _ , and ya just - ruined my life, this was an opportunity to get my research into the limelight, and - for fuckin’ what? Yer fuckbuddy?! What, did he  _ ask nicely? _ ”

“Miya, what -”

“Don’t even pretend like ya didn’t know about this,” he snaps, unbearably angry at him, “You were busting my ass the first time we met over yer  _ fuckin’ _ funding, and now yer spending it to drive me out of my own fuckin’ lab - what the fuck’s yer problem?!”

“Are you talking about the lab switch?”

“You  _ agreed _ to them running the lab to the ground, you  _ fuckin’ agreed  _ for them to destroy my work and - and - you  _ know _ how important this is ta me, ‘n you -”

“Hey -”

“- you coulda told them to wait a little, my project was almost done, I was gonna apply for a grant and keep the lab open, but fuckin’  _ Komori _ had to come an’ ask for me to get  _ kicked out,  _ huh? Over a  _ fuckin’ window? _ ”

Sakusa heaves a sigh as if he’s being inconvenienced by Atsumu’s rant, and Atsumu sees red.

“Miya, listen, it’s not that big a deal -”

“Not that big a deal?”

Atsumu’s voice feels cold and detached, even to himself, and Sakusa’s eyes widen almost imperceptibly - he knows he’s fucked.

If Atsumu gets any closer to him right now, he’ll definitely do something he regrets.

There are tears prickling at the corners of his eyes, and he glares at Sakusa one last time before slamming the paper into his chest and spits one final “hope yer happy with yerself, Sakusa.” and leaves with all the grace and dignity he can muster.

-

He spends almost every waking hour in the lab, using all his sick days for an extended break from teaching - Osamu comes by to check on him, but leaves after it’s clear Atsumu’s just gonna be staring at his results and pipetting more nutrient medium into his bacterial cultures.

Then, in true twin fashion, Osamu returns and forcefeeds him a couple of homemade onigiris - he can tell they’re homemade because of the slightly too-salty rice and the uneven seasoning, but it’s just such a nice gesture and he’s just had a  _ terrible _ week that he bursts into tears.

Osamu pats him on the back, clearly uncomfortable in that way where a sibling still doesn’t know how to comfort their brother when they’re sobbing, but he thankfully stays silent and allows him his dignity as he bawls like a baby.

“Do I needta beat someone up for ya?” Osamu asks, watching him scarf down rice ball after rice ball in record speeds. 

He feels another wave of tears hit, and he tries not to cry around a mouthful of rice because that’s disgusting, but as soon as he swallows he starts sobbing again, and Osamu looks even more uneasy and shuffles in place, fiddling with the cuffs of his hoodie and averting his gaze.

“Unless you can punch the entire hospital administration, I dunno if you can help,” Atsumu sniffles, wiping his tears on the back of his hand and stuffing another ball of rice into his mouth. “The lab’s gonna shut down in a couple weeks, and they’re givin’ it to Komori, and - it’s so stupid, he doesn’t like the amount of light in the lab so they’re comin’ over to mine instead.”

“You can just move to the Mill Uni’s lab, why’re you so upse -”

Osamu pauses, and Atsumu watches as he connects the dots.

“The hospital staff didn’t tell ya?”

Atsumu shrugs helplessly.

“I’ll kill him.”

“Don’t lose yer job ‘cause of me, ‘Samu.” He stares longingly at the empty bento box and sighs. “It doesn’t matter anyways, I’ll just go back ta teachin’ and I’ll go to the Paper Mills Lab on the other side of town to continue my research.”

“I’m the only one allowed to make ya cry. Lemme at ‘im.”

“I knew ya cared, somewhere deep down in yer little Grinch heart, ‘Samu.”

Osamu opens his mouth, presumably to snap back, but Atsumu cuts him off with a “I shouldn’t have eaten in the lab, huh?”

“They’re not gonna care, it’s gonna close anyw -” Osamu stops when he sees Atsumu’s lip wobbling, and falls quiet with a sigh.

There’s a silence where Osamu looks like he wants to be anywhere but here, and Atsumu feels like drowning in humiliation and tears.

“How’s yer research goin’?” Osamu tries to change the subject to the one thing Atsumu’s got going in this situation, and Atsumu almost starts crying again in sheer gratitude.

“It’s goin’, it’s goin’. All I have ta do is make a powerpoint, and then I’ll be home free and I’ll say goodbye to this ol’ place.” Atsumu pats the polished cabinets with a watery smile. “It’s been my home fer the last couple of months, I should give it a proud sendoff.”

They’re interrupted by a knock on the door, and Osamu gets up without prompting to go meet the guest. There’s some muffled conversation, a slam of the door, and then Osamu comes back with a scowl prominent on his face.

“Told Sakusa to fuck off.”

“Thanks, ‘Samu.”

“Don’t mention it, ‘Tsumu.”

* * *

The following week is a blur of  _ work, get the info onto the slide - shift the picture to the right a little, no not that far, what the fuck happened to the slide format?? no, okay, everything’s fine, print out the cue cards for the speech, where’s the printer holy crap is it jammed what the shit what the fuck there’s like ten minutes before I need to wrap up the last experiment what the shit - _

According to Osamu, who comes in after his classes end every couple of days, Sakusa has been knocking on his door each day - not like Atsumu cares, the guy can fuck off to Komori’s lab and stay there for all he cares! - and well, Komori apparently didn’t know about the switch ‘cause he texts Osamu later  _ I thought it was a different laboratory, oh my gosh, how can I help? _ Which is bullshit, so Atsumu doesn’t feel any remorse when he’s inevitably going to be crushed in the competition.

He presses enter on the submission page all on his own - character development, Osamu gives him an approving nod - and deflates onto his pitiful couch and screams into a cushion.

“And so it begins,” Osamu says, “Things have been done that cannot be undone.”

Atsumu throws the cushion at him.

-

“Here’s the plan,” Osamu whispers from where they hide behind a column to the biggest auditorium in their finest formal wear, “We wait for the last second before enterin’, that way Sakusa an’ Komori can’t ambush ya and force ya to talk to them.”

It suddenly hits him, how far his brother is willing to go for him, and he can feel his lips trembling.

Osamu looks over and groans. “‘Tsumu, don’t cry, it’s literally the  _ worst _ time to cry, yer about to give yer fuckin’ presentation -”

“I can’t help it, I’ve been such a  _ piece of garbage _ for the past  _ month _ , an’ yer still helpin’ me out with, with, with  _ everythin’ _ \- ‘Samu, have I ever toldja how much I love you -”

“Oh my god,  _ shut up _ -”

“‘Samu, I love you so much -”

“Excuse me, are you two going inside?”

The woman, clearly thinking that they’re lovers making out on the column or something, hidden in the cloak of night, jumps backwards in clear shock when two people with the same face stare back at her.

“Yeah, yeah,” Osamu checks his phone and suddenly pushes Atsumu into the room with a sharp, “It’s go time!”

The moment he steps inside, the light is blinding - there are  _ so many people _ , all holding their own brochures of the program order, milling around with glasses of what looks like champagne in paper Dixie cups? and chatting to each other, and Atsumu realizes he barely knows  _ anyone _ . He freezes up, staring at the high arch of the ceiling, the ornate golden gilding on the walls, the baroque details on the chairs - and the white plastic folding tables holding what seems to be a sports drink dispenser, the orange gallon kind, and a tray of Oreos. They seem kind of out of place.

This university is  _ loaded _ , he marvels, there’s a second floor like in those concert halls where there’s little boxes full of fancy rich donors, away from all the hubbub and probably drinking champagne out of golden chalices or some crap. There are a couple of tech workers fiddling with the projector, because of course there are - Atsumu has never  _ once  _ been to a big meeting where the projectors worked on the first try.

Osamu nudges him with his shoulder. “You need to get to the backstage area, yer goin’ on soon.”

He turns his gaze onto him helplessly. “I don’t fuckin’  _ know _ where the backstage area is.”

“I have to do  _ everything  _ for ya, huh,” Osamu cranes his neck over the crowd, and then points to a gathering of people in the corner. “You have two minutes ta get over there ‘cause we got in so late, holy shit Sakusa’s comin’ over - ‘Tsumu, go!”

Atsumu catches a glimpse of dark, curly hair heading towards them before he starts walking as fast as is socially acceptable in a large, formal gathering such as this one. He spots Komori’s caramel hair as soon as he gets close, and  _ ugh _ . He stays as far away from him as possible.

A black and white striped man bounces up to him with an ear-splitting screech, and everyone in the vicinity just sighs, like _yep._ _This guy._ “Hey! You look like that other guy! Osuma? Osomu? No, Osamu! That’s it!”

“He’s my twin. We’re identical.”

The man laughs, bellowing and  _ really  _ loud in the relative quiet of the auditorium. “You’re really funny! I’m Bokuto, what’s your name?”

“Atsumu.”

“Atsumu? That’s a great name! Wanna hear about my research?”

There’s something slightly off about listening to a guy ramble on and on about the biological markers in bird shit.

But, it’s better than facing the guy who tried to sabotage his research plans, whether intentional or unintentional and ugh he’s coming over.

“Atsumu? Could I talk to you?” Komori looks like he might cry if he doesn’t, and honestly who the fuck is this guy to waltz in, steal the man  _ and  _ steal the lab, and then beg for his forgiveness as if he didn’t mean to do all that shit?

“Sorry,” he deadpans, “Bokuto’s been telling me about the proteins found excreted in avian fecal matter and how they might be able to indicate the bird’s lifespan, can this wait?”

Bokuto beams, and turns his attention onto Komori with a crazed look in his eyes - fully playing up the mad scientist role, but like, not intentionally? “Komori, do you wanna hear about it? There’s an enzyme, only about three hundred amino acids long, can you believe it? - and it’s found in large quantities in the excrement of  _ crows _ , while in comparison the same agglutinate mass is found in smaller groupings in the crowned eagle, so …”

Komori flashes him a helpless frown, and Atsumu just smiles, like  _ now you have to listen to this too. _

Time flies when you’re listening to someone wax poetry about literal bird shit.

The lights dim, the announcer has a shock of bright red hair that can  _ not  _ be university regulation, and they introduce the first person on stage. Apparently they did the order of participants based on who turned in their presentation the earliest, so. Atsumu’s last. 

“Here we have Kuroo Tetsurou, and his study on oxygen transfer in feline blood!”

Amidst the polite clapping, Bokuto starts fucking cheering, the only person to do so and  _ does this guy even feel shame? _ Atsumu feels like self-combusting under the second hand embarrassment.

The dark-haired man, one eye covered by his own bangs (what is this? 2010?) actually has a great presentation. His powerpoint, the combination of shades of red and sleek bulleted lists looks  _ amazing _ , and Atsumu momentarily regrets using the default black and white template for his slides - but hey, he was running on a time crunch so there’s not much to dissect there.

The infamous Oikawa Tooru presents with a undeniable dramatic flair, and he is  _ good _ . Like, the content of his slides is kinda dull, the discovery of a binary star system on the outskirts of the Milky Way - c’mon, that’s not  _ research _ , that’s pointing a fucking telescope at the sky and squinting - but the way he delivers his findings is top tier, level 99 charisma type stuff. Everyone’s laughing at his corny jokes, Bokuto beside him is going fucking  _ nuts _ , Komori is  _ still _ trying to get him to talk to him,

There’s a couple of people who present that don’t really make an impact, but then Bokuto leaps onto the stage, matching Oikawa in that element of  _ could I go up to that guy and strike up a conversation without feeling awkward _ ? His presentation, coupled with the gross-out factor that talking about bird shit generally gives off, is a hit with the crowd - and honestly, Atsumu can sort of see why. Bokuto  _ exudes _ that childlike feeling of wonder that every single one of the scientists in the audience experiences at least once in their lives, studying their respective fields, and that’s kind of awe-inspiring.

“Atsumu, listen, you don’t have to forgive me, but I just wanna say -” that’s right, Komori is still trying to explain himself. “I had no idea it was your lab, you have to believe me, if I win this award I want to do it of my own merit, not forcing the only other capable contender out of their own research facility -”

“Komori, ya don’t have to apologize just to get Sakusa off yer back -”

“No, listen! This isn’t about him! I messed up, I get it, I thought the lab was still vacant and asked to move in, I didn’t  _ know _ , and I tried to get them to reverse the decision but they already made the switch -”

“Uh -”

“I made a mistake, it’s totally fine if you think I’m a jerk, ‘cause it was a  _ terrible _ thing to do, and I’m so sorry, I’m  _ really _ sorry, and - and -”

Komori really is about to start crying, and there’s something just so genuine about his apology that makes all the fight leave Atsumu in a whoosh of air.

“Yer a pretty neat guy, Komori.”

“I - what?”

“Not many people would have the guts to apologize like that. I accept yer apology, by the way, I’ve spent the last couple of weeks feelin’ like total garbage, no need fer you to feel like that too. Hey,” he falters, “don’t cry, aren’t ya ‘bout to present?”

“Atsumu …”

“Bokuto’s about to finish, go get ready!”

Komori engulfs him in a hug, squeezes so tight that a rib almost punctures his lungs, and then dashes off to neaten up his cue cards before he presents. 

His research, Atsumu hates to admit it, is  _ good _ . Like, he’s made a fucking Excel spreadsheet (stop making him feel bad about his line graphs, they’re efficient okay??) and there are high resolution photos of the capsomere structure and the proteins sticking out of the membrane in 4K! Wow!

The oval eyebrows seem to be the key for bewitching the crowd into being interested in the presentation. Komori might not be a bad person, but Atsumu’s still gonna bash his weak points because he is  _ gonna win this competition _ .

He closes his eyes - and then Tendou is screaming, “And last, and probably least - just kidding, just kidding, stop booing at me, Osamu - Miya Atsumu, the newbie, with his bacterial competence blockers!”

Atsumu walks onto stage, almost tripping but catching himself at the last second, and then searches the crowd for Osamu - it’s easy enough, he’s sitting in the front row and mouthing  _ don’t fuck this up _ \- very helpful, thanks Osamu! and sitting right behind him, of course, Sakusa has his arms folded and his eyes are drilling into him - and suddenly, Atsumu doesn’t feel nervous, but instead just  _ why are they sitting so close together?? What?? _

A microphone is pushed into his hand, Komori gives him an encouraging smile,  _ there are so many people!!! Holy shit!!! _ and Atsumu just fucking goes for it because if he stalls any longer, it’ll look weird.

“Some of ya might’ve heard of the MRSA outbreak a couple months ago,” he starts, and the crowd goes respectfully quiet and subdued at the mention of the miserable time that had been, “I had a friend that was on the front lines of the disaster and well, I wanted ta help in any way I could, y’know?”

He looks out at the seated audience, decidedly  _ not _ looking at Sakusa and instead making eye contact with all the people in a given row, then moving up a row and repeating the process, trying to maintain a sense of normalcy, like he’s just chatting to a friend, or coworker -

“COM-blockers, or competence blockers, they’re biological components that stop the spread of antibiotic resistant genes from bacterium to bacterium via horizontal gene transfer …”

* * *

The judges vanish off to a side panel to discuss their findings, and Atsumu relaxes into one of the chairs next to Osamu and groans. “Felt like I was gonna die up there, it was so scary - you’d tell me if I sucked, right ‘Samu?”

“Can’t believe I’m sayin’ this, but yer presentation was decent - stop smiling, that wasn’t a compliment, Oikawa’s question portion was a whole lot better than yers -”

“‘Samu I don’t know if ya know this but there’s something called compassion and sympathy, you should try engagin’ in that sort of activity -”

“Engaging? When’d ya learn big words like that?”

“When I became a fuckin’  _ microbiology _ major, ‘Samu, god -”

“Glad yer feelin’ back to normal, ‘Tsumu.”

“No, hey, don’t change the subject, how’d ya think that I  _ don’t _ know big words, I literally started my presentation with them, ‘Samu - hey, don’t turn away!”

Osamu’s back is trembling with suppressed laughter, and Atsumu thinks, amidst all these fancily dressed higher-ups and in the golden lights of the stage, he feels better than he has in a good while - and then, Sakusa, looking unfairly good in what on  _ anyone else _ would’ve been a plain, black suit jacket and tie, but on him is a fucking knockout outfit, walks over and stands in front of the two of them.

“Bye ‘Samu!”

Atsumu isn’t a coward - he spent years of his life struggling in a lab that actively tried to crush newbies like him, there was that one time he faced off against a spider the size of his hand (Osamu was sleeping and the problem was too great to leave the room to get him), he ate an expired cup of yogurt for three dollars in high school - so there’s absolutely no logical reason why he stands up and walks away from the confrontation.

Why is he still running?

Maybe it’s because he actually likes Sakusa, and avoiding him seems like the better route than the inevitable tangle of emotions that’ll grow in his chest after watching him and Komori get together. Maybe it’s because Atsumu doesn’t want to get rejected. Maybe it’s because Sakusa hasn’t earned the right to talk with him after that stunt he pulled.

Whatever his reason may be, Atsumu strolls into the crowd of people milling about, knowing that Sakusa won’t follow him into the mesh of people. He smiles, talks to people who were really interested in his topic, smiles a little more, and explains some of the finer points of his research to the more science-y people there.

To his surprise, a hand wraps around his arm and holds him firmly in place, not pulling or shoving, just a warm steady pressure, and he turns in surprise to see Sakusa - clearly uncomfortable in the close proximity to other people, slouching and trying to make himself smaller, but his eyes still fixed onto Atsumu’s without wavering.

“Please, Atsumu. Just listen.”

He can feel the breath catch in his throat; it’s the first time Sakusa’s called him by his real name, and it sound so natural in his voice, and  _ god _ \- Atsumu’s been angry for weeks, but just one word out of him and he melts like a popsicle on the Fourth of July.

“This ain’t the place fer it. Let’s go.” He says, mainly out of feeling kinda bad for making Sakusa venture into the crowd to actually talk to him, and Sakusa immediately pulls him through the crush of people and to a secluded corner where the lighting is dimmer and oh shit it’s  _ definitely _ a makeout corner geez -

Sakusa takes a deep breath, and then bows - and while Atsumu had been expecting an apology, he didn’t expect him to  _ bow _ , and Atsumu immediately tries pulling him up, hissing out a “what are ya _ doin’,  _ get  _ up! _ ”

“Shut up, if I don’t do this now I never will,” Sakusa grits out, and then he rises gracefully and stares intently at him, and Atsumu loves to be admired but this seems a little much.

“I saw Komori’s application to move into the lab,” his voice is quiet, and he toys with a stray thread of his cuff while fidgeting from foot to foot, and Atsumu’s never seen Sakusa so on edge before; “I thought that you could move into the hospital’s microbio lab so I accepted, and I realized after that I completely overstepped and made a decision without your input, and I didn’t even consider what  _ you’d  _ want.”

“H-Hey, stop apologizing, I shouldn’t’ve yelled at ya like that -”

“I’m not done.”

“But -”

“Shut the hell up and  _ listen _ .”

Atsumu falls quiet.

“I fucked up.” Sakusa exhales, the air leaving his lungs in a sigh. “I shouldn’t have underplayed it, I should have given you the choice and talked with you about it. I can’t change what I did that day, but I can change what I do now -”

“Careful, Omi, you sound like yer about to propose to me,” Atsumu laughs loudly, the sound dying in his throat when Sakusa quickly looks away with a slight blush high on his cheekbones.

“Omi ..?”

Sakusa closes his eyes and visibly steels himself, and Atsumu can feel his heart jumping to his throat,  _ is this happening right now? Is this really happening?! _

“I. Somehow, with your stupid blond hair and your dumb pretty smile, I. You. You just.”

It’s the reddest Atsumu’s ever seen Sakusa become, and judging by the heat he can feel in his own cheeks, Atsumu is definitely matching him in that regard.

“Are ya askin’ me out?”

Sakusa turns away, hiding his crimson face behind his dark curls, and it’s  _ so fucking cute _ that Atsumu can feel his heart pounding its way out of his ribcage in a bid to get closer to him.

“Omi, you have to give me a yes or no, I can’t read yer mind -!”

“I didn’t want it to go like this, it wasn’t gonna be some apology and then asking you out like it never happened -”

“Omi.”

“Look, we can pretend I never asked, I’m sorry -”

Atsumu slowly places his hand on Sakusa’s arm, giving him plenty of time to flinch away, and then gives him a comforting squeeze. “Look, Omi - if yer gonna ask me out, I expect flowers and a smile -”

He catches sight of Komori approaching in the corner of his eye, and he feels his stomach drop to his feet - Komori doesn’t deserve to be rejected and watch some random guy get with the person he’s been pining after for years, and Atsumu stills.

Sakusa looks at him with confusion painted on his regal features. “Atsumu ..?”

“Look, I’ll just let ya guys chat,” he flashes him a soft smile, “Come talk to me later, ‘kay?

He fast walks towards where he knows Osamu will be sitting, weaving through the mess of people and makes a detour to the plastic concessions table and picking up a handful of Oreos - and then collapses into the seat next to his twin.

“How’d it go with Sakusa?”

“Komori’s gone to ask him out, but like. Before that? I think he kinda asked me out first? But I dunno.”

“What the fuck?”

“I didn’t wanna be there while he got rejected?”

“You had literally  _ no _ problem doin’ that to that one guy last year, where’d ya grow a conscience?”

“I found one after Komori actually apologized ta me today,” Atsumu sighs, stuffing an Oreo into his mouth, “He’s a decent guy, even if my research’s way better, but he’s got a good heart.”

“How the fuck didja get into so much drama yer first year of teaching here?!” Osamu steals an Oreo from his hands and bites into it with a nasty sounding crunch, “My first year, the weirdest thing that happened ta me was that Bokuto and Kuroo spiked a watermelon into the founder’s statue and knocked it over!”

“They fuckin’  _ what _ ?”

“Now yer in a love triangle, yer lab opened and closed in the span of five months, yer ‘bout to win a research grant, the prickliest guy in the entire school’s head over heels for ya, what the  _ fuck _ happened?!”

“I don’t ask fer trouble, trouble finds me -”

“Oh that’s  _ bullshit _ -”

Osamu’s interrupted by the judges entering the stage, holding out certificates and forcing the audience to go respectfully silent. 

The head judge hands an envelope to Tendou, who’s already bouncing up and down and making grabby hands towards the man with an excited squeal.

“Thanks, Wakatoshi-kun! Okay, let’s get down to business guys! This seems kinda like the Oscars, don’t you guys think?”

Tendou pecks the head judge on the cheek, which could very well just be Tendou being Tendou, or something else, but everyone in the audience doesn’t seem too bothered, so Atsumu just settles back in his chair and waits.

“No, guys, like I’m up here and announcing the winners, like … I should do that, huh?” Tendou clears his throat and changes his voice to one similar to a peppy radio host. “This is the 25th MSBY Uni Research Awards, and I’m your host, Tendou Satori!”

“Hurry up and get on with it!” shouts a person in the audience, and Tendou laughs into the mic, making a loud crackle and forcing nearly everybody to clamp their hands over their ears.

“Temper, temper, Semi-Semi!” he twirls on stage, shining in the golden lights and opening the envelope with a dramatic flourish, slicing the seal neatly with one neat fingernail and pulling out a bright orange notecard.

“Why is this so orange?”

“They ran out of regular ones,” the head judge - Wakatoshi? - says contritely, holding a hand up in apology. 

Tendou just squints at the neon cue card and smiles. “The Academy Award for Most  _ Interesting  _ Research goes to …”

He pauses for dramatic effect.

The silence stretches, a bit too long to be normal.

“Tendou!” snaps one of the administrators, and the red-haired man on stage waves the cue card around with a light-hearted giggle, before raising his microphone to his lips.

“With his research on avian shi -  _ fecal matter _ , Bokuto Koutarou!”

The man in question leaps onto the stage, does a fucking cartwheel and then lands in front of Tendou with a beam. The crowd goes absolutely fucking  _ wild _ . 

“Along with his certificate, he’ll be receiving twenty thousand dollars in funding from the university!”

“Thank you, thank you! I’ll be here all night!” Bokuto jokes, and then whips out his phone and snaps a selfie with Tendou on stage. Tendou pecks him on the cheek in the picture - guess that’s just his style? Immediately after, Wakatoshi steps in between them and glares at Bokuto with an unreadable gaze.

“It’s time for your speech,” Tendou says, and Atsumu can see the panic drawn out in the lines of Bokuto’s face because  _ holy shit we needed to prepare a speech?? _

“Stop scaring him, Tendou.” Wakatoshi nods at Bokuto, allowing him to leave the stage, and then leveling his gaze onto Tendou with a frown. “If you can’t do it properly, I’ll say the results for you.”

“But then it would be dull!” There’s a wide leer Tendou’s face, and he sticks his tongue out in a playful smile. “C’mon, Wakatoshi-kun, liven up a little!”

“The next award is the Research Grant of Excellence,” Ushijima begins, and Atsumu clenches his teeth so hard he can feel them crack - he  _ needs _ to win this, he  _ has _ to -

Osamu turns to him and whispers, “Relax. Ya got this.”

“Easy fer you to fuckin’ say, it’s not yer project on the line -”

“‘Tsumu, even if ya don’t win, Sakusa and Komori’ll probably find a way to get ya into a better lab -”

“So now yer prepping me fer the worst-case scenario?! Have some fuckin’ faith!”

“Do ya want me to reassure ya or not?!”

“What the hell are you two arguing about?” Atsumu turns to see Tendou hanging off the stage with one hand, leering at the two of them. “Wakatoshi-kun just said your name, it’s bad manners to not go up there and grab it!”

“What?” 

“Yer so dumb, ‘Tsumu,” but there’s a grin spreading wide on Osamu’s face, and Atsumu allows himself to get dragged up onto the stage byt the cheery redhead.

Atsumu takes the card as if in a daze, staring down at the certificate - he really did it, huh.

Tendou leans in and plants a kiss on his cheek, but Atsumu turns around to ask him a question at the exact same moment and - it’s not a bad kiss, all things considered, and Tendou laughs good naturedly about it. Atsumu catches a glimpse of Wakatoshi’s face, and decides yep, it’s time to go.

“Along with this certificate, Atsumu Miya will receive a fifteen dollar gift card to Target!”

The crowd, previously cheering for him, goes silent.

“.. don’t you guys know how to take a joke?”

No answer.

“Fine, fine, you’re all sticks in the mud - he also receives a fifty thousand dollar grant from the National Foundation for Clinical Research .. yadda yadda …”

The cheering restarts, and Atsumu manages a shaky bow before slipping off the stage and out of those bright golden lights, nothing like the fluorescent ones in the lab, and sliding into his seat.

Osamu tries to go for a smug smile, like  _ I toldja so _ , but it’s a little too bright to  _ not _ be proud. “I knew you’d do it.”

“‘Samu, yer a menace.”

“I’m glad ya won.”

“Shut up.”

“Yer turning red.”

“I’ll kill ya.”

“Ya like me too much to kill me.”

“...” 

* * *

The rest of the night’s a blur; he’s vaguely aware of Oikawa practically making out with Tendou on stage after he receives an award for originality, apparently to “make Iwa and that bastard Ushiwaka jealous”, and he succeeds - a spiky haired man drags Oikawa off stage and Wakatoshi wraps an arm around Tendou for the rest of the announcements, Komori gets a grant for thirty thousand dollars - impressive, but not as impressive as Atsumu’s grant so he takes solace in that, and Kuroo’s project apparently gets the attention of a veterinarian in America so. All of them lost to Kuroo.

The only thing cycling through Atsumu’s mind is the pink face of Sakusa as he so-sweetly confessed - and then the kindness he showed Komori by letting him have a shot at asking him out. 

He isn’t sure if he regrets it yet.

But, as he reclines on his lab’s old, barely-functional swivel chair, he thinks that he doesn’t regret coming here at all. Even if he has to see Komori and Sakusa sucking face all the time, however unlikely that outcome is, he’s found a place here. 

There’s a knock on the door, and Atsumu springs up - Osamu had said he’d come over and give him some onigiri - and here’s the things about glass doors, they kind of ruin the suspense of who’s waiting outside.

Sakusa’s holding three roses, he’s pulled his mask down to his neck, and he doesn’t have a smile on his face but he’s not frowning either.

Atsumu pulls the door open and then leans against the doorframe with a fox-like smile. “Whatcha doin’ here, Omi?”

“What does it look like I’m doing?” Sakusa grits out, and Atsumu has to hand it to him - for Sakusa, confessing in broad daylight and in front of a bunch of other people is something else. It almost makes him feel like he’s worth it. 

“What about Komori?”

“I don’t like him in that way. I thought that I made it obvious last year.”

“And… so you like me?”

“I’m holding three roses. I’m at your doorstep. There are people taking pictures and screaming that they’re watching a confession.”

“Yeah, but do ya like me, or like- _ like _ me?”

Sakusa seems momentarily stunned, and then he smiles - a small, beaming smile - and says, “You’re so dumb.”

Atsumu melts under that tiny smile - yes, theoretically he  _ knows  _ Sakusa has dimples, but that’s different than actually  _ seeing _ them - and he reaches out and plucks the roses from his hands, and before he can say anything, Sakusa leans forward and pecks him on the lips.

He reels back, blushing redder than he’s ever been before, and stammers out a “what?” before Sakusa steps into the lab and gently pulls him with him.

“I don’t go back on my promises.”

-

(“I come to give ya these onigiris and yer making out in the lab. There’s gotta be some protocol against that.”

“Aren’t ya glad you came in before we started fucki -”

“Yer a piece of crap.”

“Love ya too, ‘Samu.”)

**Author's Note:**

> damn this took so long .. i didn't think it'd suck up all my time like this jesus christ  
> yes, i know it's kinda rushed, i started it this week  
> feel free to translate this work, as long as you give credit! <33


End file.
